


Amicable Arrangements

by volunteerfd



Category: Amicable Arrangements
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Wesley working at Nelson and Murdock, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteerfd/pseuds/volunteerfd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Fisk is in jail but Wesley doesn't die. Instead, a series of off-screen events happen that lead to Wesley working for Nelson and Murdock. Basically, an amalgamation of different prompts I’ve seen: Wesley becomes the avocado accountant; the gang unwillingly starts to like Wesley; Matt can’t tell when Wesley lies because he’s so good at it; Matt/Wesley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amicable Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this is one of my fics that requires a suspension of disbelief and a little OOCness for its very concept–but once we’re past that, I hope I kept them as IC as possible.
> 
> Th doughnuts featured in this fic are from DOUGH in NYC. I have no received any compensation from DOUGH to be featured in this fic, nor am I or anyone in my family employed by DOUGH.

Karen, Foggy, and Matt had dirt on Wesley and Fisk. It was not a goldmine of information as much as it was a nuclear weapons arsenal that, if set off, would utterly demolish Wesley and Fisk worse than either of them could imagine. The consequences could make Fisk’s current prison sentence look like a very long retreat.

In an ideal world, Wesley would be sitting in jail, a different jail than his employer was currently in. It wasn’t an ideal world. It was a Cold War. Wesley had dirt on Karen, which, merely hinting at, turned her pale green. He had dirt on Matt, too. He had taken them aside, away from Foggy, and with annoyingly deft language, threatened them without threatening them, told them what he knew without saying what he knew.

“I wouldn’t _dare_ release the information unbidden,” Wesley said, then, flicking his gaze to Karen, “but if I were to die under mysterious circumstances, I wouldn’t be able to do anything to keep it under control. But I value professionalism. I can be of use. I have tried, in the past, to help your little firm, and I will repeat my offer to help. I don’t see why we can’t cooperate with one another for the time being. I think an arrangement would be mutually beneficial.”

At the present moment, Foggy looked confused. The only thing Wesley found on him was a minor charge of drug possession–marijuana, of course. Wesley would have to make do with Foggy’s two friends, who should be more than effective.

“Will someone tell me why we haven’t thrown this guy in jail yet?”

“He will be useful to us,” Karen said, tearing her hard gaze away from Wesley. “It’s a, um, mutually beneficially arrangement.”

“Have you both gone insane? He could destroy us if we keep him around!”

Matt and Karen couldn’t tell Foggy the truth: Wesley already could.

Wesley smiled his pleasant, eye-crinkling smile that didn’t meet his eyes, not by a long shot. “There is very little I can do with my employer in prison.”

“Word of advice: if you’re trying to convince us that Wilson Fisk is not evil, don’t treat him like Voldemort,” Foggy said.

Wesley’s smile widened, but his eyes remained dead. “I will keep that in mind, but I don’t think it will make much of a difference at this point. He is in prison, after all, and he’ll find it hard to get past the dementors.”

Foggy opened and closed his mouth, but his only retort was, “Voldemort was never in prison.”

***

Karen ushered Foggy away to try to get him to cool off, leaving Matt and Wesley alone.

“Well, Mr. Murdock, it seems we’re in a stalemate.” His heartbeat didn’t change; it never changed. But he did this thing where he buttoned his suit jacket when he was ruffled. Matt didn’t know if “ruffled” meant “agitated,” “lying,” “scheming,” or something else, but he filed the information away for later.

“It seems we are. What do you suggest we do about it?”

“I think we should make the most of it.”

“You better not–” Matt said.

“Mr. Murdock, I never make the same mistake twice. Underestimating you and your friends was, I admit, an egregious errors.”

***

“Ms. Page, now that we’re going to be working together, I would like to apologize for what I insinuated the first time we met.”

Karen stared at him, then lowered her voice to a deep, mocking tone and said, “Ms. Page, now that we’re working together I’d like to blah blah blah.”

***

Monday morning, Foggy, Karen, and Matt found a giant box of donuts on the table. In neat, almost calligraphic script, a note read _To making the most of our partnership._

“We will not let him buy us with doughnuts,” Karen said.

“Look at the size of these things. Passionfruit, toasted coconut, hibiscus. They’re trust fund baby hipster donuts!” Foggy held one up to demonstrate.

“Foggy, no!”

“What’s wrong with eating a donut? It’s not like they’re enchanted. I promise, I’ll still hate the guy after.”

Matt smiled. He was the only one who knew there was a fourth heartbeat in the room, right in the doorway.

“The hibiscus one is rather popular, but I enjoy the dulce de leche or the tropical chili.” His accent on dulce de leche was crisp, almost show-offy, but only Matt noticed. Foggy jumped and banged his knee on the table. His donut fell back in the box.

“I don’t normally indulge, but they are very good,” Wesley reached for a bright yellow one, smoothly ignoring the awkwardness.

“Take this one,” Karen instructed. Wesley moved his hand, but then Karen pointed to a third. “No, that one.”

“Do you think I’ve had them poisoned, Ms. Page?” Wesley said, amusement in his voice. He made the idea sound ridiculous, (even though, really, it wasn’t), and Karen flushed.

With an apologetic glance to Karen, Foggy snatched a dark chocolate glazed and took a huge bite. “Salted caramel! Are you kidding?” His ecstasy was cut off by a sharp look from Karen.

“Mr. Murdock, would you like to split this one? I can’t possibly eat it myself.” Wesley was already cutting the donut in half. “Tropical chili. It’s a vibrant yellow glaze, mango, papaya, I’ve forgotten what else.”

“Guava and pineapple,” Matt said.

“Impressive.”

Matt could hear the smile in Wesley’s voice. He couldn’t help it: he raised his donut half in a mock toast.

***

“Happy birthday,” Matt said, sitting at the table. In front of him was a black gift bag, decorated with obnoxious fireworks. Wesley approached it cautiously, sticking one finger around the rim and moving it around the table.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Open it.”

Wesley raised his eyebrow at Matt, forgetting the futility of that gesture. He opened the bag–no glitter bomb, no regular bomb. Just a lump of white fabric.

It was a cheap t-shirt, worth less than one of Wesley’s shoelaces, one of those shirts they sold in gaudy souvenir shops along–Wesley almost shuddered, feeling dirty just touching it–Times Square.

I [HEART] NEW YORK.

“Haa,” he laughed like air wheezing out of a tire. “Cute, Mr. Murdock, but it’s not my birthday.”

****

“ _Nellie Bly: Daredevil. Reporter. Feminist._ You’re trying to bribe me? With a biography about someone I learned about in high school history class?” Karen asked.

“I thought it might interest you. I apologize if I overstepped,” Wesley explained. Karen scoffed and stormed off, but, Wesley noticed, she took the book with her. Let her take it as a gift, of course, that was a bonus, but it was not his true intention.

“I hate you,” Matt said, trying to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching up.

 _That_ was his true intention.

***

“I don’t know what you look like,” Matt realized.

This late, he and Wesley were the only two in the office. Wesley wasn’t lying when he said he was professional and would be useful to their business. Perhaps they were all making a fatal mistake, but they trusted Wesley based on the threat of mutually assured destruction, and, even worse mistake, liked him.

OK, maybe not Karen so much. She would never really like Wesley. As long as Karen was cold to him, Foggy would never really like Wesley, either, but he did appreciate the bagels and lox spreads from Murray’s, sushi platters, better lamps…Wesley’s contributions were numerous, and they had to be careful.

Wesley smiled over his paperwork, but didn’t look up. “Does that bother you?”

“Well, we have been working together for a while.”

Matt…Matt couldn’t help but like someone who perpetually had a wry smile in his voice.

“I suppose that is a one-sided aspect in an otherwise mutual relationship. This arrangement has been working for you otherwise, correct?”

“Correct.”

Matt walked closer to Wesley, who had abandoned his paperwork and taken off his glasses.

“You don’t have to do that cane charade with me, you know. All things considered.”

Matt let his cane fall without hesitation. He sat on the edge of the desk, next to Wesley, who swiveled towards him.

“You’re amused,” Matt said, letting his fingers trail Wesley’s face.

“Does the eyebrow give it away?”

“It does.”

Matt was leaning closer, waiting for Wesley to back away, even slightly, but he remained in position until Matt was breathing in his face.

“Mr. Murdock, I didn’t realize these were your proclivities”

Matt was pleased to hear a tightness in Wesley’s voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He tugged Wesley out of his chair and onto the desk, grasping his silk tie. Karen and Foggy often talked about how ridiculous they were; Matt tried to imagine. The tie was off, then the jacket, and Matt was working Wesley’s shirt when he felt a hand grasp his wrist.

“Mr. Murdock. Wait.”

Wesley moved out of Matt’s reach. Matt felt foolish: everything about Wesley indicated he was into this, into him; he didn’t feel rejected so much as confused.

Then he heard the shuffling of papers, Wesley moving across the room, a soft thud of relocated books, and returned to his original spot. Wesley even fixed Matt’s hands to where they left off.

“Resume.”

***

“You don’t sleep much, do you?” Matt asked. He lay on the desk, listening to Wesley shuffle around the room, cleaning up. Destroying evidence.

“I could say the same about you.” More shuffling. “Your friends aren’t going to notice anything, are they?”

“Not if we’re careful. I expect that’s in your skillset.”

Wesley huffed out a quiet laugh, but Matt sensed some remaining uncertainty.

“Is that I Heart New York shirt lying around here?” Matt said, suddenly feeling the draft.

Wesley cleared his throat. “It’s currently being used.”

Matt cracked up as Wesley protested, saying “Don’t you dare! It’s chilly in here.”

Wesley tore it off and threw it at Matt’s face.

“I’m surprised your skin didn’t sizzle when you wore this,” Matt said, sitting up.

“It did. You didn’t hear it?” Still uncertainty in his voice, hidden very well. If he were wearing a suit, he’d be buttoning one of the buttons.

“Mr. Murdock, I hope you don’t…I hope you don’t misinterpret anything. This. What we did here. What happened.”

The man who was usually so good with words–annoyingly good with them–was now flustered and floundering. _Misinterpret._ Their nukes were pointed at each other, and they were handling it amicably. It was easy to forget with Fisk in jail, but Wesley's loyalty was inexplicable and unquestionable: reserved for Fisk first, last, and foremost.  _What we did here._ Like Wesley had said: _We should make the most of it._ That’s what they were doing. 

“Understood.”


End file.
